Player: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  In any case, the world slows to a crawl as I look up again to see the men have hit the fence by the pool. One of them is throwing his shoulder against the gate, and its as they start to pour through, she finally looks up.

  Her book drops to the ground, and she's lunging to her feet and reaching for her bag. The men are shouting and raising their guns, and it’s about to go down. And all I’d have to do is walk away. All I’d need to do here is step back into the shadows and go on with being Javier Toro; escaped prisoner, war vet, mercenary, general piece of shit bad guy.

  Yeah, fuck that.

  The gun feels almost weightless in my hand as I raise it, the thundering of the chamber seemingly muffled as I level it at the men and start to empty the clip at them.

  And Total. Fucking. Anarchy. Ensues.

  The men scatter, ducking back for cover as I fire away, my lips tight as I move towards the, I’m sure, terrified blonde girl. I grab her by the arm and yank her behind me, pushing her back towards the other exit to the pool as I jerk my arm back up and fire a few more shots into the group of men.

  “Go! Move!” I’m yelling as I grab her hand and start running towards the dock of the hotel marina, ignoring the way she's screaming at me as I calmly reload the one backup clip from my pocket and turn back to train the gun on the gate to the pool.

  Just try and follow, fuckers.

  They’re firing back as I shove her back behind me again, backing us onto the docks. She’s hitting me and yelling at me, and the spray of metal clanging off the side of the dock next to us sends a jolt of adrenaline through me; fuck, I kind of missed this.

  But then something happens. The screaming girl I can ignore, but it's when I feel the press of cold steel into my back that she has my absolute attention.

  What the fuck is happening?

  “Javier Toro, you're under arrest by the United States of America. Drop your fucking gun, and get on your knees.”

  I whirl on her in a flash, and it’s only then that the last puzzle piece falls into place.

  Holy fucking shit.

  We’ve never met, but that doesn’t matter because I know exactly who she is. In fact, there’s no way I couldn’t know her. Nine months ago in another lifetime, her older sister plunged a surgical scalpel three inches into my neck and put me as close to death as I’d ever like to be.

  Chelsea Archer, all young blonde blue-eyed little coed in a bikini, is in full-on firing stance with a nine millimeter pointed right at my chest.

  I repeat: what the fuck is happening?

  4

  Chelsea

  My pulse is racing a mile a second as I squeeze the gun harder in my hands.

  Don't let it shake. Shaking shows nervousness and you can't show them anything but cold-hearted killer. You got that?

  Yeah, I got that. Training is drilled into your head with the Agency, but training is nothing like standing in front of a target with the weight of a loaded gun in your hand. The rush I expected, but the sheer hit of adrenaline that courses through me has me fighting to keep my body from shaking with every ounce of my being.

  Javier Toro; the devil himself is standing three feet in front of me, staring me in the face like he can't quite believe what’s happening.

  “I said drop it!” I yell, flashing my eyes at him and tightening my grip on the gun; “Now!” You're supposed to give one, maybe two warnings; then you shoot.

  I'm not so sure I'm ready for that part.

  “Now, Jav-”

  The dock next to us explodes in splintering spray of wood, and I whirl away, covering my face. I look up to see the men from the pool, the men with the guns, barreling towards us.

  Javier’s men.

  It’s a moment of chaos, which I know is exactly what he's waiting for.

  I whirl back to him, my gun raised; “I said on your knees, Javier!”

  He looks at me wildly; “Are you fucking crazy!?”

  “Now-”

  His gun is up, and it's right at me; “Look, I saved your ass back there, princess, but I am walking away from this, right now.”

  I shake my head, trying to meet his eyes instead of the barrel of the gun pointed right at my face. It’s a surreal standoff, eye to eye and gun to gun with Javier on this dock while a small army of men with guns runs towards us.

  “I'm taking you-”

  Bullets rake the side of the dock next to us, and suddenly, Javier lunges.

  I'm pulling the trigger, but his grip is firm as he shoves my hand back and away from him as we both tumble backwards. I gasp as the gun falls from my hand into the water as we topple back into a rubber dingy anchored to the dock.

  “Did you just try and fucking shoot me?!”

  His face is livid, and before I can say anything, he raises his gun. I do flinch this time, shrieking as I close my eyes at the sound of him firing. But he's not shooting me, he's shooting them.

  Ok seriously, what the hell is going on here?

  Javier moves like lightening. He's got the rope off the cleat on the boat and the engine roaring before I even know what’s happening; “Drive, Archer!” He shouts, standing to raise his gun at the men at the end of the dock.

  Bullets pepper the water around us as I stare at him; “What?!”

  “Drive the fucking boat!” He screams at me, ducking as another wave of bullets flies our way.

  I'm grabbing the outboard motor and jolting us forward so fast that Javier tumbles back into the boat as we roar off into the marina; “Where the hell are we going?” I scream at him, still eyeing the gun in his hand.

  Javier looks up, his eyes wild as he scans the marina, before they narrow; “There.” He's pointing to a mid-sized luxury yacht at anchor.

  “What?”

  “That one.”

  “That one, what?”

  “That’s the boat we're stealing.”

  I start to slow the engine, but he whirls back to me; “You want to die here in Aruba, princess?”

  Not really.

  “No.”

  “Ever been in a fucking gunfight before?”

  I scowl at him; “I've had plenty of training in-”

  “So yeah, that's a no then?”

  My eyes narrow at him, but I don't; answer.

  Javier’s eyes dart to the men running onto the dock behind us; “Get us to the boat, spy-girl, or we're toast.”

  “Nice driving, princess,” He mutters as we clamber up the stairs of the yacht's back landing.

  “Will you stop calling me that!” I say, snapping at him.

  He whirls; “Well that is what you are, isn't it? Daddy's little princess? Heir to the fucking Archer throne?” I can feel my face going pale as I stare at him, all the while watching his grin get wider; “Yeah, I know who you are, Chelsea.”

  His accent is thickly Latin; all smoke and espresso and liquor. It’s salsa dancing and late, dangerous nights.

  It’s also the voice of the man who almost destroyed my life, and that’s as raw and dangerous as it gets.

  My eyes drop to the gun in his hand, suddenly tensing as the reality of this insane situation starts to really sink in. He looks at me questioningly before he follows my gaze. Quickly, he puts the safety on the gun and tucks it into the back of his shorts.

  “You're welcome, by the way.”

  I frown; “Excuse me?”

  “For saving that cute princess ass of yours, baby.”

  “You didn't-”

  “Oh, seriously?” He rolls his eyes at me as he turns and marches toward the main cabin.

  “Hey! Get back here!” I stomp after him, my eyes darting around the boat for something to stop him with. This whole thing was planned, down to the letter. I spent three days straight figuring every angle, every exit, and every variable of this whole thing.

  Clearly, that was a colossal waste of three days.

  I storm into the control room just as Javier starts to rev the motor; “Do not start this boat up, Toro.”

  He snorts and shifts the en
gine into drive, not even turning around; “No can do, princess. We stay, we get shot.” He shoots me a smirking grin over his shoulder; “I somehow doubt you've ever been shot, so let me just spoil the surprise and tell you it fucking sucks.” He turns back, lurching the boat forward; “It sucks almost as bad as getting stabbed in the fucking neck.”

  My eyes suddenly land on the gun sticking out of his shorts and I freeze.

  'Whats the matter, rook? Ain't got the stones?'

  Koufax’s obnoxious voice rumbles through my head, and before I can even second guess myself, I lunge forward and yank the gun out of his pants; “I said stop the fucking boat!”

  That gets his attention. He lets the yacht drift to a stop as he freezes.

  “For the last time, I'm telling you to get on your knees and-”

  Javier whirls, knocking the gun from my hands as we both topple backwards. There's a scramble, and I'm shoving against him, but the reality is that he's much stronger than me. In a second, he's got me on my back, his body hovering over mine with my hands held firmly by the wrists above my head.

  There's something almost sexual about the position, and I can feel my whole body burn with heat feeling him against me like that. His face looks wild with his strong, chiseled jaw, and his dark brown eyes flashing at me. His black hair is tousled, framing his face, and I'm suddenly keenly aware of his lack of shirt.

  I'm also keenly aware of something pressing against my thigh.

  Oh my God, is he hard?

  His lips part slightly, his teeth white and flashing at me. Our eyes meet, and there’s just this pure fire between them. It’s wild and animalistic, mixed with anger and resentment. But there's a single second when we lock eyes on each other, and we both see it.

  But the moment passes, and then I'm just being held to the ground by a target I'm supposed to have halfway back to an embassy by now. And so I do what any rational woman would do when pinned to the ground by a dangerous, shirtless stranger, however perfect a body he has or however handsome a face: I scream.

  He jerks away from me as soon as I start to thrash and yell in his face, my hands clawing for him as he scrambles away from me; “Dios fucking mio; calm the fuck down!”

  I quickly stand, squaring off against him as I snarl like some sort of puma ready to pounce.

  “Look!” He points across the marina, where the men are quickly piling into another boat of their own; “Something tells me those pendejos aren't with you, right?”

  I shoot him a heated look before I shake my head.

  “Great. Well if we stay here, they’re going to shoot at us, comprende?”

  “If you think I'm going to help you escape-”

  “I'm helping you escape, princess!”

  We lock eyes again; the standoff all over again.

  Finally, he rolls his eyes; “Here.” He hands me the gun, butt first; “I'm going to drive, hold this if it makes you feel better.”

  I glare at him, but I reach out and take the gun from him. It's heavy in my hand as he mutters something in Spanish and turns back to the wheel.

  'You up for this, Archer?'

  'Absolutely, sir.'

  “Javier, turn off the boat.”

  The gun feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I flex my sweating hand around the grip. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that shit. I'm not going to kill him, but he can still talk to the C.I.A. with a hole in his leg.

  He freezes for a second, still not turning around; “You won't.”

  The boat continues on, plowing faster and faster as we cruise out of the harbor and around the lighthouse point.

  I pull the hammer back and take a deep breath.

  “You have three seconds, Toro. Turn off the fucking engine.”

  “No can do, princess,” He says with an arrogant chuckle; “Can't go back, so we're going forward.” He lurches the boat faster, and I can feel my finger tighten around the trigger.

  This asshole is seriously going to make me do it.

  “Besides,” he says with a chuckle; “We both know you're not actually going to-”

  I squeeze.

  Click.

  It's empty.

  The sound of the trigger still has Javier jolting upright though, and he whirls, his face a mask of absolute shock; “You fucking shot me?!”

  “I did not!” My face is pale and I'm staring at the gun in my hand like it's some kind of wild animal.

  “Yeah but you tried to!”

  Holy shit, I did.

  I've hit the targeting range about as hard as I did with schoolbooks, but I've never pulled a trigger on an actual person before. I stare at the piece of metal in my hand like it’s a snake that might bite me. I want to throw it away, but reason takes over and I hold it firm, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

  This is my op; I'm supposed to be in charge, and I'm supposed to be in control of the situation. And yet here I am on a stolen yacht, with the fugitive I'm supposed to bring in, being chased by a mob of men with guns trying to kill me.

  I am very much not in control of this situation.

  But I turn and look out the back of the cabin to see the men starting to untie the boat back at the docks, screaming at each other and pointing in our direction. I turn back to Javier - the devil himself staring me in the face with that hard glint in his eye and that teasing smile across those lips of his.

  “It- it wasn't loaded-”

  “No shit, princess.” He sighs, his shoulders deflating a little with the moment. His eyes follow my gaze to them men in the smaller boat; “You know what? Fine; you're the boss, chica. What’s the call.”

  Men with guns, or the man that kidnapped my sister?

  I narrow my eyes at him; “Drive the fucking boat, Toro.”

  “Aye aye capitan,” he salutes with a grin on his face before turning and lurching the engines forward, roaring us out of the harbor.

  5

  Javier

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  Dios fucking mio, this girl asks a lot of fucking questions.

  “Away from the men trying to kill you.”

  “Us.”

  “What?”

  “Us,” She gives me a hard look; “They're trying to kill us.”

  I laugh; “Princess, they're trying to kill you; they're only after me because I was a fucking idiot and stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.”

  She says nothing and turns to look out the side window of the cabin.

  “Yeah, you're welcome, by the way; again.”

  “Thanks,” she mutters as her hand tightens on the gun. It's kind of hilarious to me that she's still hanging on to it like that, considering we both know it’s not loaded now. But whatever; it seems to make her feel like she’s in charge, so fine.

  My eyes travel up from her clenched hand to her smooth arm, then up to her bare shoulders and across that exposed collarbone to the swell of her breasts. I mean this chick is a fucking knockout. Killer smile, bright blue eyes, tanned skin, and that white bikini and sarong which is doing everything right to show off that perfect body with curves in all the right places. I mean, damn, if i'd known the C.I.A. made spooks like her, I'd have gone looking for trouble a long time ago.

  Get your head in the game, Javier, I mutter to myself, shaking my head and dragging my eyes away from the temptation sitting at the helm next to me. Not the girl I should be thinking about like that, or looking at like that. She may be sexy as sin, but fuck, she's the enemy here. This is the C.I.A., for fuck’s sake; not to mention her fucking family and all their little helpers are the ones that got me stuck in that hellhole of a prison in the first place. She might be tempting as all hell, but I'd be a Goddamn idiot to let my guard down around her.

  “So what did those banditos want with you back there.”

  “What? I have no idea.” she spits out, frowning at me.

  Nice fuckin attitude.

  “No idea?” I laugh; “The 'I' does stand for 'intelligence', doesn't it?”


  “Cute,” She sneers at me; “Seriously though, where are we going.”

  “I know a place.”

  “A place?”

  “Maybe you just gotta trust me, honey.” I say with a grin.

  She barks out a sharp laugh this time, though she doesn't say anything afterwords, which pisses me off.

  “I used to smuggle through here, way back. Aruba's got all sorts of hidden little spots on the coast where we can dodge the heat.”

  “Fine, and once we're there, we're getting a phone and I'm calling this in.”

  Yeah, whatever you say, baby.

  Because I know the patch insignia on the flak jackets of the guys at the marina. I know that logo, because I used to wear it myself.

  And what the fuck Blackriver Mercenary Group wants with Chelsea Archer, I haven't the slightest fucking idea.

  “We're going to need to lie low for at least the night.”

  I've gotten the boat to a stop near the mouth of the all but hidden cove I remember from my smuggling days. Really, “smuggling days” sounds way more badass than it actually was; cigarettes and American copies of Playboy Magazine for off-duty U.S. Navy guys isn't exactly narco-trafficking; not like my father.

  Chelsea looks up at me sharply. She's still holding that stupid unloaded gun, which is becoming more and more comical by the moment; “We're not staying the night anywhere, Toro. We're getting to the airport, I'm calling Langley, and we're taking you in.” She narrows her eyes at me; “But nice try.”

  “Yeah, that’s a no-can-do.” When she flashes those eyes at me again and starts to open her mouth, it suddenly occurs to me that she doesn't have any idea who was just after her; “You know I’m not the bad guy here, babe.”

  She laughs; “You don't seriously believe that, do you?”

  There's something about the way she thinks this is all a joke that gets right under my skin; “I'm not the-”

  “You kidnapped my sister and you-”

  “She stabbed me in the neck.”

  “You kidnapped. My. Sister.” Her voice is level at me, her jaw tight and that wild, dangerously sexy look writ large across her face. I hate to admit that she brings up a fair point, but my scar still throbs under the ink on my neck. That was another lifetime ago, another cycle in the ever evolving, swirling, constantly chaotic bullshit life of Javier Toro.